Draga’s voice roughened. “The Hawks who took his message said he appeared to be injured at the time, which tells me he was still pretending to be the prince. Clearly that didn’t last long enough. I can’t tell you if he’s still alive, but Tatterhelm would be a fool to throw away any of his bargaining chips. Scouts are sweeping the mountains nearby to see if we can pin down his location as we speak.”
“What of Father?” Jasimir asked.
Draga looked as if she’d stepped in dung. “What of him?”
“Is he… Has Rhusana…?”
“Ah. No.” Draga leaned back. “For better or worse, he’s still on the throne.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. Draga straightened, and Fie saw that the tinkling came from finger-length steel feathers dangling from a tight knot of dark hair at the back of her head. Hawk custom. One for each battle won. Draga wore more than Fie could count. “Enter.”
A cadet near about Jasimir’s age walked in, bearing a platter of fresh panbread, soft goat cheese, figs, and smoked meats. A second cadet followed with one sweating pitcher of water and another of rich red wine. They both snuck fleeting, sidelong glances at Fie and Jasimir. One’s lip twitched into a curl before flattening out.
Fie almost laughed out loud. Between the prince’s grime, his ragged clothes, and his lost topknot, the cadets had taken him for a Crow.
Draga cleared her throat. “Give my gratitude to the commander,” she said pointedly. After the door shut she rolled her eyes. “Prissy little things. Eat up, I’m certain you’re famished.”
Draga poured two brass goblets of water and handed them to Jasimir and Fie, then poured herself wine. “So. Highness. The last time I heard from Taverin, Rhusana had just arranged to have ground glass dumped in your wine, because I suppose that harridan needed a hobby. He mentioned you might be paying a visit to your auntie soon. Then the next thing I know, a Phoenix has conveniently died of the plague for the first time in five hundred years, and just as conveniently, so has Taverin sza Markahn.”
“I didn’t know he was in contact with you.” Jasimir’s knuckles tightened on his goblet, though he’d schooled his face into granite.
“Markahns. We’re dirty gossips to the bone.” She grinned that toothy, sharp grin again, and Fie suddenly kenned where Tavin had learned to make the slightest gesture look lethal. “As my blood, my protection is yours, and as my prince, my loyalty is yours. But if you’ve got more in mind than taking up residence in the Marovar, you’d best lay it out for me.”
“Tavin’s original plan was to claim I survived the plague through the strength of Ambra’s bloodline,” Jasimir elaborated. “I’d return to the capital with the regional governors rallied behind me. The lord-governor of the Fan said he’d aid us, but we walked straight into Rhusana’s ambush.”
“So you came to me instead.” Draga eyed her goblet and sighed. “Only Taverin would come up with a scheme that ludicrous in the first place. I’m going to need more wine.” She tipped the glass at Fie. “And you, Lady Merciful. I can’t believe you shepherded the boys across the whole wretched nation out of the goodness and charity in your heart. I also can’t help noticing you’re missing your flock.”
“Tatterhelm took my kin hostage in Cheparok.” Fie sipped her water, a show of ease as deliberate as Draga’s choice of stolen offices. “I’m here because Rhusana allied herself with the Oleander Gentry.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Draga muttered into her wine.
“So I swore the prince to a Covenant oath,” Fie said.
Draga winced and took a swig of wine.
“We’d get him to his allies, and in exchange, the Crows will be guarded against Oleanders. By Hawks.”
Draga spat out her wine.
“What?” she demanded. “What kind of—never mind. Forget Taverin’s scheme,thatis the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard and will ever hear again, in this lifetime or the next.”
“The ludicrous thing is that it hasn’t happened sooner,” Jasimir said. “I’ve seen Oleander rides with my own eyes. And I’ve seen how the rest of the country thinks they can treat Crows because there are no repercussions. It’s going to end.”
Draga’s brow furrowed. “Let me be plain with you,Highness.You need the cooperation of the Hawks. You won’t get it, not when you’re asking them to roll shells with the Sinner’s Plague.”
“Is the plague the problem, or is it the Crows?” Jasimir met her gaze steady and hard.
“I won’t pretend that’s not part of it,” Draga returned.
“They need to get over it,” Jasimir replied. “I’m not asking the Hawks to take any risk Tavin and I didn’t take, and survive, ourselves. If you want to look at it as a general, we’re preventing a takeover of the throne. I have to look at it as a king. The Crows are my people. Our people. They’re part of Sabor. It’s long past time to act like it.”
Draga gave him a long, heavy look and poured herself more wine. “You’re right. But it’s not enough to just be right. I know my Hawks. You force this on them, and they’ll turn on you. The answer is no.”
Fie dropped her goblet with a clang of brass. Water spilled across the floor, flashing peach from the reflected sundown.
She hadn’t heard right. Tavin had said Draga was loyal, that she’d follow royal commands. And the prince—
“He swore an oath,” she said, furious. “And my end’s kept.”
